


Taken

by Windlion



Series: Song and Dance [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Human!Jack, Jack refuses to be a damsel, M/M, Pitch is a creeper, anxiety/depression, excessive snark, not PC views on mental illness, stalker behavior, teen!Jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windlion/pseuds/Windlion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's had more than his fair share of nightmares and fears over the years, and he's afraid they're getting worse.  Jamie offers a possible solution: it's not him, it's something . . . else.<br/>Jack wishes he wasn't right.  Enter the Boogeyman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the meme: http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2200.html?thread=1920408#cmt1920408
> 
> I have had Florence's "Breaking Down" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCIQSOa2Rmg) itching in my brain to become a BlackIce song fic, and it sorta snowballed with this prompt into a perfect storm of "Write me now." So. Uhm. Multifill happened. Special bonus teenage!Jamie, because Jack needs friends who can clobber him over the head when he is being an idiot and the Guardians are busy being Guardians. 
> 
> Obviously the lyric intros are all from the song in question.

_Even when I was a child_

_I've always known_

_There was something to be frightened of._

 

It's back again. Jack groaned into his pillow, wanting to throw it at the wall. Hell, he wanted to ball up under his blue comforter and haul it over his head like a little kid. Not again. He knew not to make too much noise, though; his sister's room was next door, and Emma'd never been a heavy sleeper.

That was how this whole thing started, anyways. That's what the psychiatrists thought. Jack hadn't made the connection himself until they'd pulled the whole story out of him, piece by piece.

She was ten years younger than him, and Jack had been determined to be a good older brother. So it wasn't really a surprise that when they shared a room, she toddled across the floor to climb in bed with him when she couldn't sleep. Jack would hug her, wrap her in his comforter, and tell her that he'd keep the nightmares away. And Emma would finally sleep, dead to the world, while Jack gradually suffered worse and worse dreams.

Dreams of losing Emma in a crowd, where he couldn't find the tousled brunette head no matter how long he looked. Dreams of failing every class and test where words suddenly swam and became incomprehensible. Dreams of upsetting his mother, disappointing his father. Dreams of falling into darkness and never being able to make it back up to the light, no matter how hard he tried.

He'd wake up, trembling and shaking and praying he'd been silent this time. But his cardinal rule was that he must never wake up Emma.

They'd come in waves; he'd be fine for a few months, then for a week or two he'd barely be able to sleep. Finally, when he was fourteen, his parents had sent him to therapy. Who told them that Jack was a remarkable resilient young man, but perhaps they were putting too much stress on him to look after his younger sister. That wasn't long before his parents divorced and Jack figured that his mom needed someone to talk to more than him. After that, he tried to hide signs of when it was happening. He was fine. He'd be fine. He wasn't depressed, he wasn't crazy. It was just this thing that happened, and he couldn't help it.

At least he got to discover the wonderful world of coffee by the time he hit high school. They moved often enough to follow his mom's jobs that it didn't make sense to worry about finding a new therapist every time, and no one ever really cared if the pale, weird kid at school came in with bags under his eyes for a week. Jack got better at coming up with cover stories as he went; stayed up all night studying, couldn't stop reading this book, got sucked into the MMO raid that never ended. . . His mom would smile indulgently at him. Sometimes, he thought she'd call him out on it, but she never did. Maybe she just wanted to believe they'd stopped, too.

They didn't. Jack never really figured out what made them stop and start; he just knew when he was in for a bad night.

This was going to be one.

It was like the anxiety and fear crept into his bones and made themselves at home. He knew it wasn't part of him, it wasn't his usual self, but he couldn't stop thinking about every little thing that bothered him. Was he actually going to graduate all right? Would he be able to keep his friends here for once? Did his friends actually like him, or was it just because he'd made good with their de facto leader? Would he be able to go to college, and if he did, what about Emma? Maybe he'd drop out and be a failure for the rest of his life.

Some nights, he never managed to fall asleep; other times, he did, and he regretted it, because whatever his subconscious threw at him was always worse than anything he could ever think up awake.

Jack rolled over on his back, throwing his covers off. Augh. Fine. So that's the way the night was going. He grumbled a little as the cold autumn air hit him, shuffling out of bed to his desk. The light from the computer shouldn't reach the door; the last thing he wanted was his mom checking on him. She'd probably think he's looking at porn or something equally horrifying. Gah.

The flash the screen made as the computer booted up always made the shadows flicker oddly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack thought he saw a shape for a second, then shook his head and squinted as his eyes adjusted. Nah, nothing. Probably just that he'd left his closet door open with his jacket tossed over the corner.

He turned his attention back to the screen as a chat window pinged open.

**IWantToBelieve:** Hey, you're up late.

Jack grinned wryly. Only a little past midnight, of course Jamie was still up. The sophomore had a bad TV habit. He'd teased Jamie about not knowing what a DVR was for, and gotten a stubborn "It's not the same!" from the younger boy. Something about it feeling more authentic catching glimpses of things in the dead of night. Like staying up late with a flashlight to catch Santa Claus.

**Me:** Yeah, doubt I'm sleeping tonight. What're you watching, Mulder?

**IWantToBelieve:** A really cheesy cryptozoology show on SyFy- they're going to Bhutan to look for yeti. Insomnia?

**Me:** Bhutan? Not really, just can't sleep sometimes.

**IWantToBelieve:** http://lmgtfy.com/?q=where+is+Bhutan That's sorta what insomnia means, Jack

**Me:** Smartass. Himalayas? I thought yeti were all . . . polar, Russia and backwoods Canada.

**IWantToBelieve:** That's one theory, anyways. You've actually been paying attention?

**Me:** You kinda make it hard not to. And some of it's kinda cool. Haven't forgiven you for making me play Slender with you, though. I almost thought I saw something tonight

**IWantToBelieve:** Really?

**IWantToBelieve:** Oh man, I'm sorry if it's giving you nightmares. Didn't think about that.

**Me:** Just a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Nothing's actually there, don't get excited. And totally not your fault, I just get bad dreams sometimes all on my own.

**IWantToBelieve:** That's your not-insomnia?

Jack hesitated, biting his lip, then went ahead and shrugged to himself. Jamie had come clean about being a paranormal enthusiast and total myth geek practically right away when Jack had met him; he wasn't going to tease Jack about it. It was easier to admit to over the computer than in person.

**Me:** Yeah. Every couple of months, I can't sleep for a week or two, then I'm good.

**IWantToBelieve:** You've tried sleeping pills?

Oh, had that been a mistake when he was fourteen. He'd only tried a few nights before flushing away the rest of them and lying through his teeth about them not working properly.

**Me:** Tried, do not even want to go there again. Try having really bad nightmares you can't wake up from.

**IWantToBelieve:** Ouch. That sucks

**IWantToBelieve:** Have you tried talking to someone?

Code words for "Dude, have you made sure you're not crazy?" Jack rolled his eyes. At least Jamie was trying to be polite about it, a lot better than some kids had who'd found out he was getting therapy. He hadn't been sad to leave that school behind. Middle class Pennsylvania suburbia did have aggressive tolerance going for it.

**Me:** Yep, certified clean bill of health. They don't know what's wrong with me, either.

**IWantToBelieve:** Maybe it's not you

**Me:** What?

**IWantToBelieve:** Maybe you're being . . . haunted or something

**Me:** What, you want to arrange an exorcism? Thanks but no thanks

Jack rubbed the back of his neck to get rid of the odd prickles. Maybe there was a draft.

**IWantToBelieve:** It's not just ghosts, there's other things that do nightmares. Let me do some research

**IWantToBelieve:** Ugh, show's over, Mom'll be pissed if she catches me still up. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

**Me:** Knock yourself out. Night, Jamie

Jack leaned back from the computer, scanning his room. Everything was right where it always was; desk, dresser, messy closet, twin bed shoved up against the wall. Nothing looked weird. No reason to think he wasn't alone.

Except his coat wasn't on the closet door, it was tossed on his dresser. Awesome.

Definitely not even trying to sleep tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was always there you see_   
_And even on my own_   
_It was always standing next to me_

 

Jack sleep-walked his way through the day, after barely making it to school on time. His alarm had found him face-down in his book for English; he'd figured if there was anything that would knock him out with dullness, it was that. Barring that, he could get a jump on his classes and at least make it less likely that he'd screw up and end up flipping burgers for life. Win-win, sort of. Except that he'd had to scramble to get ready in time and get Emma up and running, too.

He didn't actually share any classes with Jamie, since they were in different years, but they always ended up meeting after school on the bus ride home. Cupcake shoved over to free up a seat for him nearby. Jack waved halfheartedly by way of greeting at both of them. "Hey."

(Jamie had pulled him aside early on: the first rule of Cupcake was never to ask about the name Cupcake. The second rule was to never draw attention to when she did something nice, because she had an image to maintain. Jack respected the rules, because, first impressions of "Oh my god she's going to eat me" aside, Cupcake rocked and she was always nice to Jack. Which he never pointed out.)

Cupcake nodded like all was well in the world and turned her attention back to the manga she was reading. Jamie leaned over from the seat behind him. "You look awful. Did you get any sleep?"

"Yeah, more than I expected. Melville's awesome for that." Jack rubbed a hand through his hair, resettling his bangs. "What's on the agenda for today after yetis?"

"I did some research during lunch." Jamie grinned as the dull roar of the bus engine overpowered any reasonable speaking voices. "Tell you more later."

Both the boys got off at the same stop; if it wasn't for the fact Jamie had lived in Burgess his whole life and Jack had just moved there last summer, people would have thought they were brothers. Still did anyways, when they went to movies and things. Jack kinda liked it. Like having extended family, when he'd never been close to his cousins.

He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket against the brisk autumn wind and asked the question Jamie was obviously waiting for. "So, survey says?"

Jamie hauled his backpack further up on his shoulder as he started walking. "Well, it could be a bunch of things. Nightmares are associated with a lot of different paranormal phenomena."

Jack scuffed his feet, then hopped on to a low ornamental stone wall as they turned the corner. "Well, you're the expert. Hit me."

Jamie, bless his geeky little heart, actually pulled out a list. "Ghost?"

"It's followed me halfway across the country through four houses, so I doubt it."

"Demon."

"Dude, we've gone over this. No exorcisms." Jack wrinkled his nose. "It's not like I'm all . . . Paranormal Activity or anything."

"Incubus?" Jamie sounded like he hoped he was wrong on that one.

"What? No!" Jack almost fell off the wall and flailed his hands free to catch his balance.

"Boogeyman?"

"You have got to be shitting me." Jack hopped off the end of the wall, landing neatly. "Isn't that for little kids?"

"Dementor?"

"Fictional," Jack rejected.

"Wait, how is that your objection to just that one?" Jamie all but pouted.

Jack couldn't help laughing at his expression. "Come on, I have to respect the myths that are at least older than I am. Not that one. Whatever this . . . this thing is, I've had it for five years now."

"Huh." Jamie's brow screwed up in thought as he stopped in front of his house. "Maybe you should try asking it."

"What?" Jack turned to keep an eye on him, walking backwards for a few steps. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Maybe if you confront it it'll go away." Jamie looked so earnest. "What do you have to lose?"

Except more sleep and self-respect? Nothing. Jack shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe I'll give it a shot. Thanks, Jamie."

Jamie nodded. "I've gotta do my homework, but see you on-line, all right?"

"Yep. Later!" Jack waved and turned to walk on three houses down to his house. Even as he went about everything in his mundane routine, his mind turned over the possibility. What if Jamie was right? What if it was some . . . thing, not something wrong with him, that caused this?

The hell of the thing was that not once, not once in the past five years of sleepless nights, had he even thought about it that way. Of course it was Jamie's solution; Jamie still believed in fairies and yeti. Jamie thought Jack could be . . . possessed, or something.

Only one way to find out.

 

He already knew what kind of night it was going to be before it was even really dark, but he waited anyways. He pretended to go to sleep at a regular hour, going through the motions of getting ready for bed despite the knot in his chest. He'd already made Emma worry about him that afternoon; he'd had to perk up and get himself together despite his brain-dead state. At least pretending to sleep meant he didn't have to pretend to smile; he could just collapse and let the time go.

What would happen if he couldn't keep it together this time? They'd want to send him back to therapy. Jamie and the others might think he was crazy. He was definitely crazy for thinking that it might be something. . . something supernatural at work. What did he think would happen if it was something, anyways? He'd have just invited some sort of night terror in that he might have pissed off somehow.

He'd already asked Jamie for the right way to call out any . . . spirit, demon, whatever, and gotten the basic formula down. He was afraid of what would happen if it worked. He was afraid of what it meant if it didn't. Ugh, what a headache.

Jack rubbed at his eyes, squinting at the clock. All right, just about one. Time to get rolling. He'd wanted to make sure his mom and sister were definitely asleep, and that whatever this was was in full swing. If he was right, he was good and riled up, so that meant there was definitely the usual goings on.

He slid out of bed and crept to his door, cautiously cracking it open and looking up and down the hallway. All dark. No sign of his Mom falling asleep in front of the TV, like she did sometimes when she was having trouble sleeping herself. Jack nodded to himself and gently shut the door again. All quiet on the Overland front.

He grabbed a pocket LED flashlight he'd dug out of his desk earlier and went back to sit on the edge of his bed. He crossed his arms across his chest and tried to pretend he wasn't holding the flashlight like a talisman. All right. He could do this, without feeling like a complete moron. Worst thing that could happen was that he made a fool of himself and his mom walked in to see who he was talking to in the dark.

No one, obviously.

He laughed a little self-consciously to himself under his breath. Here goes nothing.

He cleared his throat, and tried to speak quietly, "If there is anyone present with me tonight, in this house, I ask that you try to make your presence known. Make contact. Knock on the wall. Talk to me." Jack grimaced at himself, "I don't know, this speech is stupid and why do all of the ghost shows use it?"

There was dead silence. What, had he really expected that to work? There was nothing there, and he was just losing his mind, and he was stupid to think there might have been another explanation. Except. Something about that didn't feel like his normal thoughts to him.

Jack swallowed hard and tried again. "Look. Whatever you are. Whoever you are. You've been after me since I was twelve. I want to know who you are."

He let the silence settle for a long moment. The air felt . . . still, somehow, and too close, like his room was far smaller than it should be. Like a tomb. Like someone was watching him.

He stood, pacing into the middle of the room. He couldn't tell if the weird feeling was coming from any one direction in particular. Greatly daring, he tried one more thing.

"I believe you're here."

Between one blink and the next, something was there that hadn't been there before. A dark shape, silhouetted against his closet. In the moonlight slanting between the folds of his blinds, it solidified into a tall man, all proud hawk nose, severe angles, and whipcord lean.

Jack forgot to breathe.

A dark, cultured voice rolled through his room.

"Hello, Jack."


	3. Chapter 3

_I can see it coming from the edge of the room_  
 _Creeping in the streetlight_  
 _Holding my hand in the pale gloom_

 

"Holy shit!" Jack yelped and backpedaled. Then clapped a hand over his mouth because crap, that was kinda loud. But oh god it knew his _name_.

"You're more afraid of waking up your family than you are of me. How droll." The dark-haired man smiled widely, revealing needle-sharp teeth that gleamed in the light. His skin was more than just pale and washed out in the gloom; he looked grey. Like a corpse.

If he'd been wearing a suit it would have been too much "Holy crap Slenderman is in my room" for Jack to handle, but no. Whatever-he-was wore an open-necked long robe of black that seemed to vanish into the floor. Okay, robe, classic Death style. He didn't feel like a ghost. What was Jack dealing with?

"So I'm supposed to be afraid of you?"

"You haven't figured that out already on your own?" The pale man tsked at him. "For shame, Jack. I would have thought you'd be much more careful about inviting the . . . unknown. . . in."

So that sorta answered his question by taking the long way around. Yes, this guy thought he was supposed to be scary. Jack narrowed his eyes at him. "Who are you?"

"Me? I go by many names." The man stepped forward, skimming a bony long-fingered hand along the surface of Jack's desk absently. When he passed out of the moonlight, he faded from view entirely into nothing but a gleam of gold eyes and white teeth in the dark like some sort of horrible Cheshire cat. "Sometimes the Shadow Man. The Nightmare King."

He stepped back into view and cocked his head challengingly at Jack. "Most often, they call me the Boogeyman."

Jack's breath caught for a moment on the memory of laughing at Jamie in the afternoon sunshine. He couldn't help the shiver. "That's . . . You're supposed to be for little kids, aren't you?"

"I'm for whomever believes in me, Jack." The dark man smiled. It spoke of spiders with flies and sharks circling. "You do."

"Now, I kinda have to." Jack firmed his grip on the flashlight. "I don't think I did, before."

"Oh, you feared many things." The smile changed to a knowing little smirk. "You see, I know you, Jack. I've always known what you fear the most." He advanced a step. "Failing to protect your little sister." Another step. "Breaking up your family." Until he was right before Jack. "Being ignored and misunderstood by everyone around you." He tapped a single finger on Jack's chest, pushing him to sit on the bed. "Going mad."

Jack fought off the urge to go screaming down the hallway to his family. This guy- demon, spirit, whatever- did not fight fair. He had to try twice to speak, "What do you want with me?"

"Please, as if you need to ask." The Boogeyman rolled his eyes. "What have I always wanted?"

". . . Fear," Jack whispered. That made . . . so much twisted sense. "Why me?"

"As much as I'd wish otherwise, I'm not spoiled for choice." He folded his arms, looming over Jack. "You fit . . . certain criteria."

"So go find someone else who does." Jack swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. So yeah, there actually was something in the shadows. Something that fed on his fear and thought it was delicious. Part one, complete. Now for part two: telling it to get the hell out. "I don't want you here."

"No one _wants_ fear, Jack." The Boogeyman reached out and brushed the back of a cold taloned finger tip down Jack's cheek and under his jaw. "You're far more resilient to it than most."

Jack shuddered and pulled away, managing to get to his feet and closer to the door. He had the feeling the tall man let him. "Yeah, not buying that. Get out."

He hit the light switch.

The shadows vanished, but he heard mocking laughter echo around him.

The velvet voice purred in his ear, "You can't hide in the light forever, Jack. No one can hide from _Pitch Black_."

 

The first thing Jack did was text Jamie: _Emergency meeting. Noon. The pond in the park._

Bright sun, open spaces, plenty of people around. Jack shook out trembling hands. Right, sleep? Totally out of the question. And the lights were staying on tonight.

 

On a Saturday afternoon, the park in Burgess had a good assortment of dog-walkers, joggers, and a kid's soccer game going on in the grass despite the cool breeze. Jack guessed everyone else knew their bright days were limited before winter set in. He kept his head down and tried not to even glance at the trees that bordered the park. Normally he'd be all up for exploring and even talk Jamie into it, but right now?

Who knew what lurked in the shadows of the woods?

Augh, this was so stupid that that was an actual concern. Fairy tales. At least he wore a blue hoodie and not a red one; Jack made a mental note that red was right out until this _thing_ was resolved. Not a big problem for him, more an issue for Jamie.

He spotted the younger boy's ridiculous red hat slouching along the path towards the pond. Jack lengthened his stride to something not quite a jog and called ahead, "Hey, Jamie!"

Jamie heard him and paused, turning. "Jack!" He waited until Jack caught up and frowned at him in concern. "Are you okay? What's up?"

"What isn't up?" Jack half-laughed, and kept walking on. "Come on, let's head over to the pond."

He'd discovered his favorite place in the park that summer. There were less people close by the pond, and looking at the water was calming. He could use a little bit of that, and less of an audience for the discussion to follow.

Jamie stopped near the water's edge after a wary look out for the pond's swan. (Yeah, only had to learn that lesson once. Swans were cranky on wings and they deserved their respect. From a distance.) Jack paused, then started pacing on restless feet. "So. . ."

"So?" Jamie turned a bright expectant face to him.

"I think it might have been better when I just thought I was going crazy." Jack stopped and paced in the opposite direction. "I need you to tell me I'm not going crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy, Jack." Jamie watched his friend, then grabbed his arm on the next pass. Jack actually jumped before settling. "Just tell me- what happened?"

"Not sure about that, because I can't decide if I had a psychotic break or what." Jack rubbed at his eyes; the shadows looked even worse than yesterday. "So. . . I tried calling out whatever it was."

"Did it work?"

Jack laughed; it sounded strangled and off-kilter even in his own ears. He threw up his free hand wildly. "Did it _work_ \- I ended up having an after-midnight chat with something that popped out of my closet, Jamie."

"Oookay." Jamie tugged Jack over towards one of the benches besides the path and pushed him into it. "Start from the beginning?"

"Right." Jack sighed. "So. It didn't work, at first. There was nothing, and I just . . . kept talking."

"Did you record it?" Jamie prompted.

"What?" Jack blinked. "No, I didn't think about it."

"A lot of the shows do that, to see if they get anything on electronics that we can't hear. They call it EVP."

"Yeah, well, I certainly heard him loud and clear anyways." Jack held up a hand to stop Jamie's obvious question and continued. "The room got all . . . silent and creepy. Like my skin was crawling and the normal anxiety turned up to eleven. Then he showed up."

"A full body apparition?" Jamie exclaimed, then pressed when Jack nodded, "What did he look like?"

"Like a tall thin man in a black robe." Jack grinned at Jamie's expression. "Yeah, that was . . . not a nice surprise. He looked like he was maybe in his early thirties, but you wouldn't mistake him for human. Gray skin, black hair, sharp teeth, creepy gold eyes, the works."

"What happened?"

"He knew my name, for one." Jack shivered in memory, and Jamie went wide-eyed. "Yeah, I didn't think that was good news, either. He said he knew me. That he wants my fear."

"What did he say his name was?"

"He said it was a lot of things." Jack tried to get the list right; it felt like a litany. "He said it like a poem, almost. The Shadow Man. The Nightmare King. The Boogeyman."

"Really?" Jamie swallowed. "That's . . . not good news, Jack."

"No kidding. I don't think he's going to give up with just a 'go away' and hitting the lights. He left when I turned the lights on, but he was laughing at me when he did. I don't think he _had_ to leave." Jack paused, wracking his brain. "Actually. . . I think there was one more name. He said it like a curse on his way out. Pitch B-"

Jamie slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. Jack squinted at him. "What the hell?"

"Oh man. . . if that's what I think it is, be careful with that." Jamie settled back and rubbed his hand on his jeans. "That sounds. . . like it might be his true name. His real name. And if you use it. . ."

"Oh." Jack felt his face pale. "Speak of the devil, right?"

"Right. And I don't think you . . . want. . . him here." Jamie cast a quick look around the park, as if the Boogeyman might be hiding under the bench. There was nothing but the happy shrieks of the children playing just out of sight.

The sad part was, Jack desperately wanted to look, too. The paranoia itched at his spine. He shoved his traitorous shaky hands into his hoodie pockets. "Yeah, that would be a no. So what do I do now?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"Still think I haven't lost it?" Jack's grin was sharp and self-mocking. "Afraid of the Boogeyman?"

Jamie squeezed Jack's shoulder. "You're one of the best people I know, Jack. You're brave. We'll figure something out."

"Yeah." Jack sighed. He just wished he believed that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind reviews!
> 
> Everyone go read/youtube the opening monologue of Shakespeare's Richard III (http://shakespeare.mit.edu/richardiii/full.html). Then come back here with your Pitch feels. Or just wait until it's obvious I'm quoting because I'm not the Bard.

_Smiling in the streetlight_   
_Even with my eyes shut tight_   
_I still see you coming now_

 

It wasn't the shadows that scared him the most after that. It was his own thoughts.

Whenever he doubted, whenever he worried, whenever he just knew things were going to end horribly and he'd be in a Lifetime movie of the week? Yeah, Boogeyman. Thanks, jackass.

Having anxieties about having anxieties was a twisted Moebius loop that opened up a whole new fresh hell for him to wallow in. He usually only recognized he was getting stupidly meta after a certain point, when his thoughts just seemed too off-kilter for them to belong to him, and . . .

_Then_ he'd start surreptitiously flicking lights on, checking the corners, and absolutely positively refusing to look under beds because there were lines, damnit. The closet door stayed firmly shut and Jack's room was the cleanest it'd been since he'd moved in, and that was saying something. The worst was that he'd hit the lights and catch glimpses of shadows, sometimes, and he couldn't be sure if it was his imagination or . . . well.

Him.

Pitch Bl- gah. The Boogeyman. It'd become a mental taboo for him to even think the name, because he just knew he'd eventually say it if he did.

The hell of the thing was, Jack had no idea if it really was the Boogeyman causing him so much grief, or if by thinking it was he was giving the jerk too much credit and he was overreacting entirely.

Which was probably complete win-win for him and-stop it stop it stop it!

Jack thunked his head solidly against his desk beside the book he was supposedly reading. He'd barely slept for a week. He'd tried keeping the lights on twenty-four seven. Given the Shadow Man's mockery, even he knew that lights were more of a placebo effect than anything else.

He'd tried coffee, he'd tried Red Bull, he'd tried Monster, until his mom firmly took the energy drinks away Wednesday and said he was going to give himself a heart attack. Jack doubted it, but by Tuesday his heart had buzzed along like a freaking hummingbird and he damn near jumped a mile when Emma banged into his room first thing in the morning without warning. So, uh, maybe there was some cause for concern.

Last night, he'd tried blasting music on his headphones. The only thing the headphones did was make him paranoid he wasn't going to hear something coming up behind him, which . . . was kinda counterproductive.

Schoolwork was getting iffy. The one place he dared sleep was school, during study hall and lunch and accidental stolen moments nodding off leaning on his hand. Jack hated that he knew he was losing things; it brought some of the worst fears out to play.

He also knew he was worrying his family, and Jamie was trying not to freak out while looking for something, anything, that would help. Jack had hated to point out that meditation, while probably beneficial, was a bad idea for him right now as he'd almost certainly go straight to sleep.

He absolutely, positively, could not sleep.

Sleep was the realm of the Nightmare King.

Jack closed his eyes and sighed. Was it three days without sleep before you were legally insane? If not for catnaps, then he could totally be excused for constantly seeing black-robed figures out of the corner of his eye well before now. As the days wore on it just got worse.

He would swear he saw Pitch Black everywhere.

Jack opened his eyes to stave off the inevitable, and nearly fell out of his chair jumping sideways when he found _him_ there, leaning casually against Jack's dresser, examining his dark nails that looked more like claws than anything human.

"Really, Jack, you're making this far harder for yourself than you need to."

"Gah!" was the best witty response Jack could manage. The Boogeyman was absolutely surreal against the brightly-lit mundane nature of Jack's room, like a cookie-cutter piece of void. Thank god he hadn't done that when Jack was on the caffeine high. Now was bad enough.

"You poor boy. What do you think you'll accomplish by fighting, anyways?"

Jack threw his hands into the air, snarling, "Why wouldn't I fight it? I don't want this!" He tried to marshal his thoughts together, "I don't like it, I don't want _you_ around, and I don't want to live like this."

The man straightened to his full height and stepped closer with an impassive expression. "Do you honestly think you can make me leave?"

"Yes." It was empty, and they both knew it, but Jack had to try. He stood and raised his chin stubbornly, "I want you gone."

The Boogeyman was absolutely cold as he stepped even closer, golden eyes staring down his nose imperiously. "Jack, Jack, Jack. You forget."

He leaned down to whisper in Jack's ear, close enough that Jack could feel his chill breath brush across his skin.

"You invited me in. You were the one who asked for my nightmares to begin with."

Jack had goosebumps racing down his spine as the Boogeyman straightened and a wicked smile played across thin lips. He knew he was in for it.

"I would so hate to disappoint."

 

_It was dark, and cold, and the emptiness of it crushed his chest like a vise. He couldn't hear anything, not even his own heartbeat, but he knew he should. A voice- a girl, his sister?- crying out for him echoed in his memory- he'd left her._

_He'd failed her and left her alone and unprotected and then-_

_Alone, alone alone alone forever against the dark, knowing that he'd failed-_

_But never knowing why he'd failed, what he'd failed in, only that he could never be good enough. His character was not built on the proper foundations, his very soul was crooked. The higher he built, the more obvious it became how unbalanced he was, until it all toppled into ruin._

_He could not change the wrongness of his nature- even the moonlight never reached him._

_He tried, and failed, and failed and failed again. Until finally he ceased._

_He could never be, because he never was._

_The unfairness tore at him, ate his bones to ruin, turned his blood to acid. Spite became his tongue._

_A half-remembered voice echoes. . ._

_"I am determined to prove the villain."_

 

When he woke to his alarm, Jack found he had knotted the covers around him. Somehow, he'd ended up in bed, his English book on the floor, the lights still on. There was more than one possible narrative as to what happened, and at least one truth: he had slept through the night.

Horribly.

Edging out of his cocoon of bed linens, he raised trembling fingers to find his cheeks were wet.

"What the hell. . .?"

 

Jack well and truly considered skipping, but damnit, he was actually sort of rested for the first time all week and it was Friday. He could make it until after school before he went to do something truly stupid. He was extra-diligent in class, as if that could make up for both past and future discrepancies, and smiled crookedly at the teachers who gave him odd looks.

Good luck figuring him out. Even Jack didn't know what the hell he was doing.

Now that he had actually slept, for some value of the word, even he could tell that things weren't adding up. Jamie and the internet had no solutions for him, and there was only one person who knew what was actually happening. If he kept waiting for the Boogeyman to ambush him, he wasn't going to get anywhere.

He texted Jamie as he walked instead of getting on the bus after school: _Going to do something stupid. Call you later._

The park was only a mile or so away, and behind it stretched the woods that Jack had considered the most Boogeyman-esque prime real estate to be found in this corner of suburbia. It would have to do; as if it even mattered where he went to try this.

The walk did him good. The cold wind cleared his head, and helped get his blood pumping. He was well and truly pissed by the time he ducked off the park paths and crunched straight into the woods. Jack didn't even try for finesse; he just plowed straight in through the fallen leaves until he couldn't see the grass through the trees behind him, then raised his voice to address the woods.

"Pitch Black. Pitch Black, get your scrawny, confusing ass out here. I want answers."

"Do you think I'm a dog, to come when called?"

The sharp, taciturn voice echoed from behind him. Jack turned to see the Boogeyman in question standing some twenty feet away, arms folded, almost blending in with the bark of the trees behind him. "No, but I thought it'd work."

"The only reason why it worked is because you believed it would." Pitch looked positively sour, not at all pleased- at being called out? At being out in the light of day, even as wan as it was filtered through the trees?

That Jack had finally snapped and let his anger overcome his fear?

Maybe his gift of nightmares had backfired on him.

"You seriously need to start explaining things. What did you mean, I asked for your nightmares?"

"You don't remember? That's not my fault, as memory is hardly under my jurisdiction." There was a definite tinge of malicious irony there. Jack blinked and Pitch changed location, somehow vanishing to reappear some ten feet closer and to his right.

"Yeah, I invited you in, that was stupid of me, but I never asked. . . Oh." Jack frowned. "You have to be going further back, don't you? They actually started a long time ago."

Pitch leaned back against a birch tree that was barely paler than his skin and watched him with half-lidded eyes. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm under any obligation to help you, Jack. I'm not-" Pitch cut himself off and rephrased, "Fear is not . . . in the business of helping hands."

Jack grumbled to himself, pacing. There had to be a source. A reason for this. Even Pitch had his own rules. And then he realized he'd been told the source before, by supposedly reliable licensed practitioners. "Emma. The nightmares started when Emma was really little. Because . . . I wanted to protect her."

Pitch didn't move a muscle, but Jack could feel the weight of his regard.

"I told her. . . I told her I'd protect her from the nightmares." He turned to look at the Boogeyman. "That was it? Seriously, that's your justification?"

Pitch leaned forward from his position, and without changing expression, "Try 'I'll face your nightmares for you.' Wording is rather important in these things."

Rules lawyered by the freaking Boogeyman. Jack wished he was surprised that Pitch was a total bitch about the letter of the law but not the word but no, no, that sounded perfectly in keeping with his character. "So, that meant you could give me Emma's nightmares, too? And that's what started . . . all this?" Jack waved awkwardly, encompassing the woods, the spirit of Fear incarnate, and his whole situation.

"Not specifically your sister's. It's rather impossible to impose someone else's nightmares upon a dreamer. Nightmares are, by definition, what the dreamer fears. You actually asked for more nightmares than were your due. That's . . . exceedingly rare." Pitch looked grudgingly impressed, and Jack wondered how rare it must be for anyone to call on him.

To choose to face fear.

But he'd raised an extremely good question that had been brewing in the back of his mind. "All right, so if that's true, then _what the hell_ was last night?"

Pitch raised curiously bare brows at him. "Nightmares, I presume. I'm not precisely capable of giving good dreams, Jack."

"Those sure as hell weren't good!" Jack threw his arms up in exasperation. "I got treated to what, a remix of the greatest hits of existential crises? They weren't even remotely mine. Don't you even . . . I don't know, have some sort of directorial control on who gets what horrors?"

Pitch scowled at him. "What did you believe I did?"

"Gave me your worst nightmares, I thought!" Jack laughed bitterly. "They were pretty damned bad, but they weren't _mine_."

Pitch froze, then his eyes went hooded. "Ah."

"What?"

"As I said, wording is everything."

"That does not even come close to explaining what is going on!" Jack stalked closer to the Boogeyman, hell bent on shaking some non-cryptic answers out of him. "Tell me!"

Before his hands could brush the black robes, the Boogeyman's shadow rushed up and swallowed him.

Jack stumbled mid-step as he went from crunching through fallen leaves in the afternoon autumn forest to . . . dark stone beneath his feet, curving steps arching away into the gloom to his left and right, faint streams of light glinting off a series of something metallic hanging overhead that stretched off through a never-ending cavern. Pitch stood on a thin bridge of stone across the bottomless void before him, firmly out of reach and features silhouetted into obscurity.

"You want to know fear, Jack? This is where fear lives." Pitch's shadow grew tall before him, his skeletal hands thrown wide. "Fear breeds here. In the dark. Beneath the world. Where all the lost things gather. This is where nightmares reside." He swept his arms back in, hands clenching on the parapet and spat, "My domain, mine alone."

Standing there, in the seemingly endless stone labyrinth that had probably not seen another living human being in god only knew how long, Jack had an epiphany.

Pitch was a liar, a dramatist, but also a rules lawyer.

So he meant it when he said the words mattered.

"Oh my god. The nightmares were _yours_."

Existential crises didn't even come close to describing what those had been. Crushing disappointment in his own perceived failures, guilt over some transgression forgotten that shouldn't have been, which just made it worse. . . and above all, the never-ending loneliness.

The Nightmare King just sneered at him from his perch. "Don't even pretend you understand, Jack. You can't comprehend the simplest foundation of the world you've stepped into."

Something else suddenly clicked.

"Belief. It all has to do with belief." Jack took a daring step forward, encouraged as Pitch automatically took a half-step back, even at his distance. "You couldn't show yourself in my room until I meant it. That's why things went wrong last night. That's why you had to show up when I called your name. Because I believed."

And that made another piece fall into place. The mysterious criteria as to _why Jack_.

"You don't have a lot of believers, do you?"

All Jack could see of Pitch was the shape of his shoulders tensing, then those amber eyes glowing as he hissed, " _Get out._ "

 

Jack found himself blinking quickly to reacquaint his eyes with sunlight. He'd been knocked on his ass in the loam and leaves of the woods with the distinct feeling of having been tossed aside like a gnat.

He stood and brushed himself off, grinning like a madman despite the grit and grime.

"Hit a nerve, didn't I?"


	5. Chapter 5

  _On the edge of sleep_  
 _My old familiar friend_  
 _Comes and lies down next to me_

 

Jack had the urge to whistle jauntily as he walked home. What the hell, Burgess wasn't that large, it was a beautiful if slightly brisk day, and he'd just pissed off the Boogeyman. Life was good. He ignored the increasingly aggravated texts from Jamie in favor of calling him directly. The first exclamation made him wince and hold the phone at arms length while he waited to cross a street.

" _Jack_! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Jack gingerly eased his cell phone back to his ear. "Uh, less than there was before?"

There was dead silence from the other end for a long moment, and Jack could just imagine Jamie doing his usual routine of flailing, stopping, and rubbing the tiny frown furrows between his eyebrows. "You'd better come tell me in person. I might strangle you if you ever do that again."

"Yes, sir." Jack couldn't help teasing, because Jamie getting mad was just . . . all the froth and fury of a dachshund trying to take on the mailman, or something. "I'll be there in twenty."

"See you." Jamie's voice was clipped, and he hung up first. Jack raised his eyebrows to himself, then shrugged and put his phone away before moving on. Jamie'd stop being mad the second Jack told him what he'd figured out.

The younger boy still looked peeved when he let Jack in, all but waiting on the doorstep to accost him. "You look like you're in one piece. What did you do?!"

Jack grinned flippantly. "Hi, Jamie. How're you doing, Jamie? I'm fine."

Jamie threw his hands in the air and pointed upstairs towards his room. Jack laughed and obeyed, traipsing up the stairs and into the first room on the right. Not like there was any question as to which was Jamie's and which was Sophie's; Jamie had posters of sci-fi and fantasy movies and heaps bookshelves with not entirely fun-sounding titles. Sophie had teddy bears and her walls plastered with teenage heart throbs. Jack couldn't imagine the Boogeyman showing up in the Bennett house no matter how hard he tried.

Jack dropped onto the end of Jamie's bed, raising his eyebrows. "So, do you want to hear it?"

Jamie sat at his desk, still looking like a thundercloud. "You'd better tell me everything."

"I went and got some answers." Jack grinned.

"From who?"

"The obvious." Jack shifted off his backpack and let it hit the floor. "I went to the forest behind the park and called him up by name."

Jamie blanched. "That was your something stupid, all right."

Jack tsked at him. "It's only stupid if it doesn't work. It did work. Pitch was pissy as hell."

"Pitch-" Jamie sounded appalled at his casual use of the name, then scrubbed his face with his hands. "Okay. So then what?"

"I got a couple of key details out of him." Jack raised one finger. "One, apparently I gave him carte blanche to give me more nightmares when I was a kid, by telling my sister I'd take her share."

He raised a second finger. "Two, he's bound by rules of belief. I think everything like him is; whatever people's beliefs and faiths are, they do. That's where their power comes from."

He could see Jamie about to explode at the implications of that, and held up the third finger. "Three, he's got next to no believers."

Jamie abruptly deflated. "Oh. Oh, Jack."

"What?" Jack blinked.

"If you're one of the only ones around. . . he's never going to stop."

Jack took a second to roll that thought around in his head, and winced. He knew, he knew that Pitch was afraid of being alone. Had been so for longer than Jack could probably conceive. Then along came Jack himself: all stupid and reckless and easy to manipulate mortal. "Huh. Damn. How do you put a restraining order on the freaking Boogeyman?"

"Wait, is _he_ really. . .?"

"Stalkerish? Yes. No." Jack groaned, flopping backwards on Jamie's bed. "I don't know. Help?"

"I don't suppose you can stop believing?"

"Not that easy to do, and . . . I don't know that I'd want to." Jack frowned. "I got . . . I don't know, a peek into how his brain works last night. To look behind the curtain."

"What? Why, how?"

"Because I believed he was going to hit me with the worst nightmares he could think of. Which meant his." Jack made a vague 'who knows?' hand gesture towards the ceiling. "Belief! It does weird, messed up shit. I don't think he expected what happened either, but it was really. . . "

There was no adequate word for what had made him wake up crying.

"Depressing," he finally finished. "Seeing where he lives I kinda understand why."

"You saw what?!" Jamie squawked.

Jack winced sheepishly. "Uh. Didn't explain that part, did I. I ah, might have yelled at him. And pissed him off enough to drag me into the shadows."

"Where-?"

"I don't know; it looked like we were underground. Some sort of massive cave with stairs and bridges. All stone and metal and empty. If I lived somewhere that dark and dismal all the time I'd be pretty depressed, too." Jack sighed. "I wasn't in there long. He got pissed enough to toss me right back out again."

Jamie sat in silence for a long moment. "Wow, Jack. How are you still alive?"

"Yeah, what can I say? I've got a gift." Jack shrugged. "It's not like he wants to kill me. You're right that it's a big deal to him that I believe. I just don't know how to get him to let up."

"I don't know. I haven't had to give anyone relationship advice for spirits before."

"Is that what you think this is?!" Jack sat up abruptly, and paused to reconsider his own knee-jerk reaction. "Holy crap. You're right. He is . . . really, really bad at this."

"Whoa, I was joking." Jamie looked more worried than ever now. "But. . . you're not."

"He thinks he's pulling my freaking pigtails." Jack made a face. "He can't stop trying to figure out what bugs me. He keeps popping up and invading my personal space. He won't leave me alone. He keeps giving me nightmares . . . because he's lonely."

"So. . . He's not trying to drive you insane." Jamie said it slowly, like he was trying it on for size. "The Boogeyman likes you."

"Kinda looks that way."

There was a moment of rueful silence. Jack wasn't sure who started it, but they both started to laugh helplessly. If it was a little hysteric, Jack wasn't going to point any fingers.

"Oh my god, that was not how I expected this to go." Jamie sighed. "The first spirit I've had confirmed exists wants to date you."

"You're telling me. I'm . . . not sure how to take that." Jack shifted awkwardly, frowning in thought. Date had to be the wrong word here; was interested in, maybe. How did you date an immortal spirit that fed on fear, anyways? And. . . he had to be ancient. Beyond ancient. If almost no one could see him, that meant Pitch probably didn't get out much, to put it mildly. So. . . "Kinda flattered. Kinda freaked out. Kinda think he's like that home-schooled kid who has no idea how to socialize anymore."

Jamie blinked at Jack. "Wait. You're actually considering it?"

"Hey, he's not ugly or anything." In a really weird, inhuman way, Pitch was exactly the opposite. Lithe, proud, and prickly as hell. Jack flushed. "Just thinking. That doesn't mean he's not a creepy manipulative bastard who needs to learn when to back off."

Jamie shot him a dubious expression, but he stepped up to bat anyways. "All right, so how _do_ you get the Boogeyman to give you space?"

"You tell me, expert."

 

It was so easy to be shrug off the worries and fears in the vibrancy of the Bennett's home. Jack wished he could bottle up that feeling and take it with him. Not that Jack didn't love his family, or that his house wasn't a home- it was just that this wasn't something they'd ever been able to help him with.

Then again, considering the source? That created one hell of a mental image when he even thought about introducing the two. Yeah, no. Pitch was so not the bring home to your mother sort. Jack still wasn't sure he wanted to bring the guy home in the first place, except he was already there.

Jack leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed. He was letting the fresh air clear his head, sitting on the back porch steps. The weather fit his mood: overcast with turbulent grey skies, a brisk breeze sending dry leaves skittering wildly across the yard. It was kinda broody in the way that heralded an autumn storm, but he didn't want to head in yet.

So. Mom was out of the house taking Emma to dance practice, and that left him, alone, and surprisingly well-rested. He'd had a few days without even a twinge of nerves or nightmares, and that was suspicious, under the circumstances.

Either Pitch was sulking or . . . no, who was he kidding, he'd pissed the fear spirit off and gotten too close for comfort. He was sulking. And had no idea how to handle a Jack who might, possibly, understand the situation. No matter how you diced it, the Nightmare King was used to being in complete control, and did not react well to losing it.

Too bad, because Jack wasn't planning on letting him run the show any more.

Jamie had been right. The only way out was through: face his fears, confront Pitch, and figure out how to keep the Boogeyman from continuing to ambush him until he was a nervous wreck a dozen times a year.

Jack rubbed his hands together to warm them up, then stood and took a few steps out into the grass. What the hell, Pitch might actually appreciate the storm more than the bright fair skies from before.

"Pitch Black. Come out, Pitch, we need to talk."

The only response was the wind whistling through the trees framing his yard, making him shiver. All right, still sulking. "You can pretend to ignore me all you want, but I know you can hear me, Pitch."

Zip, zilch, nada.

"Never thought I'd see the day that the big bad Boogeyman was afraid of a teenager. Pitch, you couldn't scare a kid at a clown party." Jack grinned, leaning his head back and scuffing his heel on the grass.

"Pitch Black can't manage to dredge up a single horror for me? That's fine, your nightmares come straight from Sophie's diary. Whatever will I do if I don't fit in, Pitch?"

Right, not working yet but he could almost pretend the goosebumps were from the feeling of being watched and not the cold. He wasn't going to be disappointed yet. Time to kick it up a notch.

"What, you want me to be more respectful? How about this?" Jack tossed off a pompous bow. "Oh, Nightmare King, Shadow Man, Boogeyman, Monster Under the Bed, I humbly beseech your presence amongst us lowly mortals. I summon thee, Pitch Black!"

"What did I tell you about calling me out?"

Pitch sounded more than a bit standoffish, his voice echoing without source. Excellent, Jack had been running out of bullshit and getting perilously close to Monty Python territory. Jack scanned the yard and turned in time to see Pitch step straight out from the largest tree's dark trunk, as if the living wood were a doorway. He stood with his arms folded, a piece of shade made solid, oddly unruffled by the wind.

"That it'd only work so long as I believe it will." Jack smirked with more self-assurance than he felt. "You're not giving me any reason to doubt so far."

"Oh, _do_ keep believing." Yep, Pitch was still peeved. "That will backfire on you spectacularly some day."

"See, that's kinda what I want to talk to you about," Jack slouched with his hands in his hoodie pockets and tried to pretend he was calm, "The believing and backfiring bit. Because I'm not sure this is working out the way you thought it would."

The Boogeyman recoiled, then smirked nastily. "Try all you like to hide it, Jack, but your heart is racing. You're afraid of what I might do. Worried that the nightmares might all come flooding back after a reprieve." He advanced on Jack and mocked, "Tell me, is this not going the way you thought it would?"

Jack huffed, "That's what- argh." Pitch was impossible to have a normal conversation with. It was all back and forth, parry and riposte. He raised one hand to push his bangs out of his eyes, narrowing them at the Boogeyman. "So you were always planning on coming back."

"Of course. You do fear so _very_ well, Jack."

That was the best opening he was going to get. Jack took it. "So that's what interests you, then?"

Pitch scoffed at him, "What are you on about now?"

"Trust me, I'm lending you a hand here, because you are terrible at this." Jack squared his shoulders and challenged, "There's no reason for you to keep coming back like this unless there's more to this than fear. It's more like you don't want to be alone."

Pitch flinched backwards, but Jack had quick reflexes. He snared one bony wrist and held fast as Pitch pulled away towards the reaching shadows of the trees.

"Look at me." Almost against his will, the Boogeyman glared over his shoulder at the impertinent human. Good, because Jack wasn't done. "Which do you actually want more, to be feared or to be believed in?"

Caught off guard in that instant, Jack could see which way Pitch wanted to answer, and which was the truth. Pitch breathed in sharply, then smoothed out his features into a blank mask. "I am the Nightmare King, Jack. To be believed in is to be feared. They're one and the same."

"Yeah, I doubt it's that easy. I was afraid before I believed in you." Jack tugged on Pitch's arm until the pale man turned back to face him, still almost at arms length. Pitch looked awkward as hell but also morbidly fascinated by Jack's fingers curling around his wrist.

Jack was sort of amazed he wasn't dead, given how obviously uncomfortable Pitch was, and had another insight. "That was why you bolted for the shadows before in the woods, wasn't it? The grandstanding was only half of it. I went to grab you and you freaked."

Pitch didn't exactly relax, but he drew himself up and stared down imperiously at Jack. "You still think you understand everything, when you can barely even fathom my existence."

"So what am I missing?" Jack let his grip loosen to something a little more friendly but didn't let go. If Pitch wanted to get rid of him, he would have by now. "Give me some context here."

Pitch narrowed his eyes and looked like he was trying to explain physics to a small child. "I didn't expect you to touch me. I expected you to pass through me."

"Like a ghost?"

"A specter, certainly. It takes a rather . . . high degree of faith for one's beliefs to be tangible things."

"Oh." Jack absorbed that. "So getting passed through is like being rejected, isn't it?"

"It's distinctly unpleasant, yes." Pitch was looking even more edgy just discussing the topic. Obviously it was a sore point. And considering he'd admitted to having few believers. . . He'd effectively been living like a ghost for freaking forever.

Pitch had this way of taking forever alone to all new places.

Jack didn't want to understand. He didn't want to sympathize. He did anyways.

The wind kicked up, throwing a spatter of rain drops that made Pitch's skin feel warm by comparison. Jack squeezed gently and let go. Pitch could depart to points unknown if he wanted, but Jack doubted he would. He took a step back up the stairs, gesturing over his shoulder to the door.

"Come on. You're probably going to find a million ways to make me regret this, and be smug every time, but I'm not going to leave you out in the cold."

Pitch hesitated, raising a brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Hey, we had an agreement. I said I'd take Emma's nightmares, and I meant it." Not quite as flippant as he sounded, Jack met the Boogeyman's eyes squarely. Somehow he hadn't noticed before that they weren't actually solid amber; there was a golden sunburst around the pupil that bled out to silver. "I believe in you. I don't believe you can keep scaring the hell out of me, because I don't know if anyone ever told you, but familiarity breeds contempt. I'll only be as afraid as the nightmares make me, because when I'm awake I'll know it's just you. Take it or leave it."

Jack waited, listening to the wind rustle the leaves while Pitch considered. He'd pushed pretty hard for something he could live with; time to see if it paid off. The pale man took another step closer, almost at eye level from the elevation. A certain look of speculation crossed his face, open appraisal that almost looked . . . hungry.

A thrill of fear went down Jack's spine when he realized exactly how far into his personal space Pitch was intruding. But he'd invited him, hadn't he? He lifted his chin almost as a challenge, and he should not have been surprised in the least when Pitch leaned in to seal the deal. Thin lips pressed against his and teased them open, like the Nightmare King was chasing after the taste of fear on his tongue.

He was right that Pitch sounded beyond smug when he finally let up, leaving Jack breathless.

"Taken."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . And now everyone knows where the title came from. Thank you for all the kind reviews; I hope this satisfies everyone who has stuck with me through the story!
> 
> Part 6 shall be the epilogue, written at my beta's request when I made a throwaway joke she demanded to see happen. XD


	6. Chapter 6

_Can you see it coming now?_

 

 

"Is he dreaming?"

"Not anymore he ain't."

"Are you sure he's going to see us?"

"Relax, Tooth. We go with flow, da? Let him up easy, Sandy."

If there was anything Jack didn't want to wake up to, it was strangers talking in his room. In stupid too-loud whispers. Jack fought the temptation to pull his pillow over his head and opened his eyes instead. To see his . . . guests.

Jack rubbed his eyes twice, and stared around his room. No, still there. The cast of ridiculous: all 6'2" of bipedal hare, the fluttering feather-coated fairy, the little glowing golden dude, the surprisingly badass enormous red-coated and white-bearded guy. He knew from Pitch that other spirits existed; he'd passively believed it possible, but he hadn't actually seen any others yet. Before now.

"You have got to be kidding me. Four of you? Please tell me I'm not missing someone."

Wide-eyed looks were traded; the golden guy elbowed the stupid tall hare and held out a tiny palm.

The one that had to be Santa cleared his throat. "Jack, we just wish to speak with you-"

Jack threw up one hand to stop him mid-sentence. "What the hell? Seriously, I thought it was just him, but you all have privacy issues. OUT. I am not having this conversation in my bedroom before I'm dressed."

That didn't put off Santa, but the fairy blushed and backed away out of his door. Jack appreciated that at least someone respected him. He gave the others a dirty look. "I don't want to have to train you, too. You do not want to know how I broke him of that. One word: Twilight."

"Now, just a minute, mate-"

"Oh my god, why are you Australian?!" Jack strangled on his incredulity before regaining focus. "No, out. My family can't possibly be a concern or you wouldn't be here in the first place, so there is no reason this conversation can't take place somewhere else when I'm decent. Out."

He pointed firmly to the door. That made the hare-kangaroo thing swallow and move, and the little sand guy looked oddly amused but followed suit. Jack ended up forgoing dignity and getting up in just his boxers to push the red-coated man out the door while the fairy hissed from the hall, "North, just be _nice_ -"

He shut the door. Then sighed. It wasn't even six a.m.; the only reason that it was even past dawn was because it was high summer. And he had four spirits of what looked like freaking holidays turning up like proselytizing evangelists who had no idea what the word "no" meant.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He thought about taking a long time to get dressed just to be perverse but every minute that he took in here, they were out there, bumbling in his hallway like the three stooges plus one. So instead he threw on a blue t-shirt and his khaki cargo shorts, ran his hands through his hair until it was hopefully not pointing straight up, and decided that uninvited pre-coffee visitors had to deal with what they got.

Coffee. There was an idea.

He shambled out of his room and barely acknowledged that he had the weirdest conga line ever following him down to the kitchen. Jack pushed the button on the coffee machine, claimed a mug from the cabinet in advance, then gestured at the table. "Have a seat."

Only Santa and the sand-guy took him up on it; Jack had to admit the flimsy wooden chairs had definitely not been designed for this crowd. No way the kangaroo hare or fairy could use them, but the enormous man looked cheerfully ridiculous perching there.

"So, what's this about?"

Right, the entire squad was now trading awkward looks. Like they realized that they had intruded on him and had no idea how to go about regaining their momentum. Ha.

Tiny sand-dude raised a hand and . . . little sand pictographs started popping up over his head. Jack couldn't help but grin. "Thanks for volunteering, but no way can I figure that out before coffee. Give me a few, all right?"

The sand-dude looked a little disappointed but nodded. The enormous kangaroo shuffled a foot and stamped like he wanted to itch at something. Jack hoped spirit claws didn't scratch floors or he'd have some tough explaining to do to his mom. Like maybe Jamie's dog had come visiting. "Look, mate, it's like this. . ."

Santa cleared his throat, "Sandy says you have not been dreaming. That you have too many nightmares."

Feather-fairy picked up the thread. "We're worried about you. Has the Boogeyman been after you? Are you all right?"

Jack leaned back against the counter, taking in the earnest and uncomfortable concern from all four faces. "Wow. Woooow. This is like the neighborhood watch showing up to say the convicted felon moved in a year ago, isn't it?" He suddenly had sympathy for Pitch's disdain for all that was good in the world if it was this stupid. "That's what you are, right?"

Santa leaned forward. "We are the Guardians. We protect the children of the world. That means you, too, Jack."

Jack squinted, held up a finger, and poured his finally-ready coffee. He hastily stirred in sugar, took a fortifying sip, then pointed at the big guy. "Let me get this straight. Santa?"

The man in red beamed. "Nicholas St. North, but yes, you know me as Santa."

"Right." Pitch had his own name, no reason why they wouldn't, either. Jack pointed to the little guy. He'd seen Pitch's nightmare sand, so it was a jump from there to . . . "Sandman? You do dreams?"

The Sandman clapped and a check mark popped up overhead. Jack nodded, then looked to the brightly-colored feathered lady. "I'm sorry, Fairy . . .?"

"Toothiana. I'm the Tooth Fairy, Jack." She smiled sweetly, clasping her hands together as she hovered in place. "I know it's been a little while since Emma's lost one, but I have all of yours, too! They were so white!"

"Oookay." Sorta creepy but par for the course. Jack glanced at the last one looming in his kitchen corner. "Aaaand then there's you, kangaroo."

"That's the Easter Bunny to you, mate." The enormous rabbit thumped a foot, reflexively reaching for what looked like weapon bandoliers. When the hell had the Easter Bunny become Australian, armed and dangerous?

Jack did not quite flinch and took refuge behind his coffee mug. "Nevermind, then. And you've all got something against the Boogeyman."

"He's dangerous," Santa rumbled. "When Boogeyman strikes, children do not dream. They lose innocence. We must save that."

Jack couldn't help snorting into his coffee. "Yeah, too late."

The Bunny muttered something like "Told you so" but Jack overrode him, picking up speed and volume as he went. "Maybe, if you'd turned up oh, five years ago, I'd have been ecstatic. I'm seventeen and a half, practically an adult, and _now_ you're showing up?"

There was dead silence. Jack rolled his eyes. "So yeah, I have nightmares. I made a deal and I'm keeping it. Thanks, but I got this." Not what he'd expected to get, not by a long shot, but he'd surprised the hell out of Pitch, too.

The rabbit looked like Jack had just admitted to eating babies. "What d' y' mean, a deal?"

Jack glanced around the room and took in the way the others were laser-focused on him. No getting out of this without telling them something. "I was twelve. I said I'd take my sister's nightmares and I meant it. The Nightmare King delivered his end. He's left her alone ever since.

"So I don't see how it's any of your business if I believe in Pitch Black."

The Tooth Fairy clapped a hand over her mouth, the so-called Bunny had gone stiff, and the Sandman just looked sad. Santa's brow furrowed and he looked like he was having trouble coming up with something to say.

Jack continued on, "Ironically, he's why I believe in all of you way after I stopped, so you actually owe him one. I don't think I'd have ever seen you otherwise." He raised his mug in mocking salute, "So, anything else you needed to save me from today?"

Santa stood, polite enough to push in his chair behind him. He looked troubled. "No. No, I think that is all."

Miss Tooth Fairy fluttered forward, hovering anxiously. "Are you sure there's nothing we can do for you, Jack?"

The angry bunny grumbled in the background, "Speak f' y'self, Tooth."

"Actually. . . " Jack looked at the odd assembly and an idea dawned on him. "Maybe you can make it up to me, a little. I know someone who's been dying to see you his whole life. It'd mean a lot to me if you paid a visit, since he's never seen you, either."

The tiny golden man perked up, slapping a fist into one palm as a light bulb appeared over his head. The next image that followed was of three little houses in a row, a blinking arrow pointing over the last one.

Jack laughed, "Got it in one, Sandman. Think you could go visit Jamie? While he's awake?"

"Ah, one from nice list." Santa rumbled thoughtfully, "Yes, we can do this for you, Jack."

"Y' really just goin' t' show up, North?" The Australian whatever-it-was scoffed.

"Is good to remind children of all ages that there are good spirits, Bunny." The large man spoke to the not-a-rabbit, but his gaze fell heavy on Jack. "Especially when there has been only bad."

The Tooth Fairy nodded agreement, then came up to squeeze Jack's shoulder. "Just. . . know if you need us, we'll be here, okay?"

Jack had no idea why she looked so guilty, since obviously he was fine, but it cost him nothing to shrug. "Sure." Maybe they'd be there for Emma.

Santa-called-North threw something that resulted in a sparkling explosion of light. "We wish you best of luck, Jack. Do not be on naughty list!"

Jack somehow managed to keep a straight face while the guardians exited via the resulting portal. The Sandman was the last to go: he turned a questioning look on Jack for a long moment, before giving him two thumbs up. Jack took that as some tacit approval and nodded back. "Thanks, Sandman."

He was not surprised in the least to feel a faint shiver of fear as soon as the portal vanished, taking all the warm fuzzies with it.

"So, friends of yours?" Jack turned casually to the Nightmare King leaning at the other end of the counter.

"Hardly," Pitch snorted. He was still looking after the closed portal, speculative but not displeased.

Jack smirked, "Figured as much. Thanks for not charging in."

"I trusted you could handle yourself. And you did well."

And that, that was worth way more to Jack than all the well-meant assurances and empty protection the guardians could offer.

Jack ducked his head to hide a stupid grin. "Coffee?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . The neighborhood watch line spawned this entire epilogue. XD
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
